A Game's End
by Bad0Wolf
Summary: The Song of Ice and Fire has ended... but has the game of thrones? How will Bran the Broken rule a realm in desperate need of healing? How will Sansa bring order and prosperity to a newly-independent North? Will Jon Snow once again find in the true North the happiness he had only ever experienced beyond the borders of the Known World?
1. A Song of Ice and Fire

**Author's Note: Before anyone reads this, you need to know that I loved the end of GOT; it was the only ending that made sense and I am convinced that if it had been any other ending, I would have been disapppointed. But, because I am not ready to say goodbye to Westeros yet, I started writing this on a whim. This is a mere prelude and each chapter will be as self-contained as possible. My main idea, the one that makes me think that the ending works so well, is that this is not merely the end of the 'Song of Ice and Fire', but also (as the title suggests) the end of the game of thrones... or is it? **

The Great Council of 305 AC was widely accepted as the true end of the wars that had followed the death of Robert Baratheon. Although the maesters would, in later years, take great pains to insist that this had not been a single conflict, only one name was chosen to refer to the events that had torn the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros apart over the course of seven years. Save for within the closed walls of the Citadel, and but for the logic in the minds of the maesters, gone were the old names of the first conflicts and even the battles, campaigns and skirmishes that followed them were mere chapter of a greater story.

Memories remained of the five kings who had arisen after King Robert had died in a hunt, and none could forget the atrocities and the deaths their war had caused. But it was the War of the Five King no longer.

The nameless conflicts that had happened in the wake of those kings' falls had pretty names to be spoken of. Tales and songs had already been told for years of the Bloodless Siege when Riverrun had been taken and no life had been lost either by the royalists or by the rebels; of the Battle of the Bastards, when the bastard sons of the rival Houses of Stark and Bolton had fought for control of Winterfell, one leading an army of wildling savages and giants, the other legions of flayed men immune to pain; of another war for Winterfell, one forgotten south of the Neck but spoken of in horrified tones for the Northmen, an obscure event they had taken to calling the 'Kinslaying'.

The Northmen and the remaining men of the Night's Watch had also named their own war the Great War, where men of all lands and of all allegiances had forsaken their conflicts to fight the Army of the Dead. When these mysterious forces of nightmare and sorcery had been defeated after a brave stand from the living at Winterfell, the battle gained its own poetic name: the Battle of Ice and Fire. The North rang with the recollections of this tale, one the Northmen would pride themselves on telling for ages to come. And even to the south, the tale of the Great War spread, though not as successfully. But even the idea of magic and ice demons was not enough to engrain the Great War's name into the minds of the people of Westeros.

Not even the Second Conquest, which had seen the return of dragons to Westeros for the first time since they had died out following the Dance of the Dragons, had remained for long in their minds.

Much more to the liking of the commons, and even to the lords and ladies of Westeros, was the name that adorned the great history of these conflicts penned by Archmaester Ebrose, one which had not taken long to enchant the commons with its poetic beauty: the Song of Ice and Fire.

For surely, it had been. All remembered that the war had truly begun after the death of Lord Eddard Stark. Five kings had arisen in the wake of this tragedy, some to claim the Iron Throne, other to rebel against its authority. Great houses that had stood for centuries had been devastated by the conflicts, cities burned, commons and nobles left dead or maimed on the battlefields. Villages and castles stood in ruins or empty. Two stag kings had claimed the Iron Throne, while two lions had sat upon it, followed by a queen. But all remembered that it had been the arrival of ice in the form of the vengeful Starks that had led to greater war. And, although the ice had appeared to melt when Robb Stark fell at the Red Wedding, it returned with a new strength after the Battle of the Bastards. And, just as it had, fire had awoken in the east and fallen upon the Seven Kingdoms yet again. A brief alliance to repel an even greater foe had not been enough to end the Song. The smoking, ash-blanketed ruins of King's Landing and the scorched field of the Goldroad stood as a reminder of Daenerys Targaryen's invasion. But her tyranny had ended at the point of Jon Snow's dagger; Ice had prevailed over Fire. And only then had the Song ended.

For a brief time, it had appeared that the Song might continue, as the Northern armies remained camped outside the ruins of King's Landing while their king languished in a dungeon, prisoner of the Dragon Queen's foreign armies. And it might have, had it not been for the quick thinking of one man. With Jon Snow imprisoned, command of his host had fallen to Ser Davos Seaworth, the man who had once served as Hand of the King to Stannis Baratheon. Knowing that the Northmen would seek revenge if Jon Snow was executed by the Unsullied, he met with Grey Worm, their leader. It had not been hard to convince the eunuch-warrior to wait to meet out his justice. The death of his Queen had wrenched the will to fight out of him. Ser Davos was able to convince the Unsullied to wait until the lords and ladies of Westeros had gathered in King's Landing where they could decide the fate of the Seven Kingdoms.

Weeks later, in the ruins of the Dragonpit, dozens of lords and ladies great and small gathered in what would be known to later histories as the Great Council of 305 After the Conquest. What none had expected was that the deliberations would last no longer than a single day.

That the son of the man whose death had started the war was now the King.

And that the ascent of Bran the Broken would mark the end of the Song.


	2. King Bran the Broken - The Ravens

**King Bran the Broken - The Ravens**

A crowd of people flowed into the courtyard of the Red Keep, eager to see the one who had issued the summons to them and fearful of what he might expect. Or, maybe, it was the very person who had summoned them whom they feared for they had heard nought but stories of him until now.

King Bran the Broken, sitting in his wheeled chair, his constant throne, watched as those who were now his subjects gathered before him on the steps of the ruined Red Keep. The first sight they had of him seemed to confirm many of the stories they had heard, mostly from those among them who were of the North. His still expression unnerved them more than the knowledge that they were standing before a king. His brown eyes seemed to look so deep within them that they had no hope of hiding anything from his gaze.

Brandon Stark might have smiled or felt sorry for them, but Bran the Broken did not feel anything. They had been summoned for a purpose and that was all that mattered. He had chosen not to receive them in the throne room, where the metled blades of the Iron Throne still rested in a frozen mass. A small part of him, perhaps a remaining shade of the person he had been before becoming the Three-Eyed Raven, appreciated the poetry of the choice. Only weeks before, beneath the falling ashes of a dying city, Daenerys Targaryen had spoken to her armies, announcing her intent to spread the Conquest to the world. Now, sitting in the very spot where she had made her fiery speech, Brandon, formerly of the House Stark, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, would make a very different speech… and in a very different tone.

To his right stood Tyrion Lannister, the reluctant Hand of the King recently released from weeks of imprisonment at the hands of the Unsullied. With his beard trimmed, his hair in a less scraggly state than the dungeon had left it in, and clad in simple but fine black garments, he stood looking at the gathering before him, the golden pin of the Hand on his chest. His brow was furrowed and his mind already reeling as it tried to take in the difficulty of the task ahead of him, the reconstruction of a kingdom; of _six _kingdoms, almost an entire _continent_. Bran had been right: his was a punishment. And as he stood, waiting for the crowd to finish assembling, he appreciated the irony of the king's decision to give his first address on the spot of Daenerys's last. What she had promised was a bright new world, a better one. But it had also promised violence and destruction; for the new world to be born, the old one had to die. Bran also promised a new world, but one that would be built not through destruction but through change. It was a challenge, a much greater challenge. But it felt _right _to Tyrion. Daenerys had chosen what was easy and so had Tyrion for so very long. Now, he intended to do things _right_.

Alongside the King and his Hand stood two other people; one a tall woman in armour, the other a smaller man also clad in armour. The tale of Ser Brienne of Tarth had somehow spread to the south, no doubt from some of the men who had survived the Battle of Ice and Fire and left the allied armies following the victory, making for the warmer climates of the south. While some questioned how a woman could become a knight, and some septons had even spoken out against the idea, none could find the passage of the Seven-Pointed Star forbidding the knighting of women. Only tradition stood in the way. And few would choose to challenge the woman who had fought in so many of the Song's great battles and now stood as the King's protector. Podrick had also pledged his sword to Bran, choosing to remain with the only two people who had ever shown him any kindness and provided him with the training to survive the battle against the dead. He was still a squire and still had much to learn, but Brienne had already decided that she would knight him the first chance she had.

Finally, the crowd had gathered and an eerie silence fell upon the watchers.

And then, King Bran the Broken spoke to them.

'The lords and ladies of the Six Kingdoms have chosen me for your king.' He spoke in the same, emotionless voice he always spoke in, but it carried to the entire party assembled before him. 'And now, they have chosen you also. The Great Council has made its decision, but our land still needs to know that a new age has begun. That the war that has so long plagued us is ended. From the Blackwater to Lannisport, from Dorne to the Twins…' Tyrion twitched as he recognized the similar expression from Daenerys's speech, '…castles, towns, villages and hovels remain ignorant of the peace. Your lords and ladies have chosen me, and so I have asked them to choose you.

'The task I mean to appoint to you is a daunting one: you will be my voices throughout the realm, to bring my words to the people and the people's words to me. You will be my Justices, meeting out my Peace to Six Kingdoms. You will be my ravens.'

Excited and worried murmurs spread through the crowd as they turned to one another, surprised beyond what they could have imagined by their king's words… and the trust he was placing in them.

'You all fought valiantly, in a variety of ways, in the wars of the Song. Such as Ser Otho Rivers, who stood by the Blackfish to reclaim Riverrun, but refused to forgo his oath when his Lord ordered him to open the gates to Ser Jaime Lannister's army.' A stunned voice was heard from within the crowd and people turned to see Ser Otho's face as he was identified. 'Lady Mirra Rowan, who held her father's lands and castles against the hordes of robbers who had gathered and roamed the Reach following the Sack of Highgarden.' Another surprised reaction. 'Such as Lyonel of the Smal Town, a sworn man to House Baratheon, who followed King Stannis to the Wall, and later to Winterfell. Who fought in the Battle of the Bastards alongside House Mazin, who took him in. And later, in the Battle of Ice and Fire… and who now stands at the very bottom of these steps.' Shock registered on every person's face when they turned to find Lyonel of the Smal Town… at the very bottom of the steps.

'None of you should be concerned about me, as I know you are,' Bran continued, silencing the crowd again. 'I have no sorcery in me, nor allegiance to dark arts your septons and wise men have warned you against. I merely see all that was and all that is. Tell my people and yours of this, and convey my message. I will answer any question they present to me. The only question they need answer is owed to themselves: do they truly believe they want to hear what I will tell them?'

Bran ceased speaking for a moment. 'As my chosen, I will give you this day the chance to see for yourselves what I speak of. I know some have questions that I can answer. Come to me now. And I will answer. And, should you feel ready for the challenge of bearing my words to the furthest reaches of the realm, I will accept you into my service.'

With his words said, Bran the Broken ceased speaking and waited.

For a time, nothing happened. Whispers began to crack the silence, but only gradually and slightly, as if they worried that a whisper would not be enough to conceal themselves from their king's hearing.

And then, one person begun walking forward.

It was Mirra Rowan.

'Your Grace,' she bowed to the king and looked uncertainly at the Hand and the two guards.

'Lady Mirra. Are you certain you wish for me to answer your question?'

'If it is within your… power… Your Grace. I believe that I do.'

'I will answer if you ask.'

Mirra gathered her courage, her eyes which had been so steady when she had starred down the robbers at Goldengrove now unable to remain on Bran's face, shifting as if to find support from the rest of the party.

But eventually she asked her question: 'How did Dickon Tarly die?'

Tyrion winced when he heard the question. He had not forgotten the day the Tarlys had died on the Goldroad, though he had often wished he could.

Bran did not react… until his eyes went white. Mirra screamed but stayed her ground, her eyes now fixed upon the king. Finally, his eyes returned to their customary brown.

'He died in an act of loyalty. Daenerys Targaryen had sentenced his father to death by dragonfire and he refused to let him die alone for his convictions. He did not try to flee, not even when the dragon leaned over them.'

Mirra's fear had vanished and she no longer looked away from Bran's face. Her eyes were blue and they seemed to glimpse the truth in the king's brown eyes. For a long moment, she did not speak and nor did he.

Finally, she said. 'I will be your messenger, Your Grace.'

The ghost of a smile appeared on Bran's face, but it seemed at odds with the rest of his face, which remained the same. 'Then come closer, Lady Mirra, so I might share with you the knowledge that I will share with my Justices alone.'

The young lady did as she was ordered and bent as close to the king as possible without touching him, and listened as he spoke to her. Once he was done, she looked him in the face for another long moment, another look that Bran the Broken held. And the, she turned to Tyrion. 'My Lord Hand, may I ask for the way to the godswood?'

Tyrion had been told to expect such questions from the new Justices. So, he ushered one of the pages who stood nearby to come and guide the young Lady Mirra to the Red Keep's godswood.

For the rest of the day, the chosen of the lords and ladies came before Bran the Broken, to ask the question they wanted answered. Some, as they stood before the king, chose not to ask and were excused. The others asked as they had been allowed to. All received their answer. Some only learning through this experience that they, in their deepest hearts, had not wanted to know the answer to the question. A few chose to take their leave and return to their homes, or to seek new ones. But most elected to accept the king's offer and became his Justices. They received also the knowledge that had first been offered to Lady Mirra… and they all took their leave by asking for the directions to the godswood.

When the last of the new Justices left, the light was fading.

Podrick Payne pushed Bran's chair back into the Red Keep, to the quarters the young king had chosen, close to the godswood. Tyrion walked beside him and finally asked the question he had been holding in all day.

'Your Grace…?'

'You wish to know what they learnt in the godswood.'

It was no question. Tyrion was still not used to the way Bran had of knowing such things. 'I do.'

'They will learn how to fly.'

Tyrion looked at the boy in his chair. And knew that he would receive no better answer.

-0-

The King's Justices, the ones commons and lords alike would soon come to call the 'King's Ravens', left King's Landing within the following days; some as soon as the morrow of their appointment had come, others when they had made the needed preparations for their journey. Soon, the Ravens were flying to every corner of the Six Kingdoms, bringing the word of the new king to the people. In castles, towns, villages and hovels, they spoke of the decision of the Great Council and of Bran the Broken. They spoke of his will to bring peace and prosperity back to the broken realm. They spoke of his strange ability, confirming the stories that had befallen the commons about their new king. And they spoke of his promise, the promise to answer any question that would be brought to him.

In many places, word of the war's end brought happiness back to the broken smallfolk, and the choice of a new king warmed their hearts. The passage of the Ravens was sometimes cheered with cries to the king's long health. But they were not always met as such. Some dreaded the idea of a sorcerer king and hid in their homes, hoping comforting surroundings would protect them from whatever evil Bran the Broken would bring upon them all. Septons decried this new king, from a foreign and godless land. They claimed his powers were sorcery of the spirits who claimed to be gods in the North and whom the Faith had banished. But religious fervour had died down and, while the decrying septons drew crowds to them, far more chose to heed the king's invitation. Scores of people took to the roads to join the Red Keep and demand Bran deliver on his promise.

This, he did. He always answered whatever question was asked of him. The men, women and children who left the ruins of the Red Keep were not the same as they had been when they had entered. But when they returned to their homes, if they returned, they spoke in hushed reverence of their new king, the one who had given the answers that no other could. Gradually, even those who had feared the powers of the sorcerer king begun to come out, as no sign of divine retribution for the king's actions fell upon the earth and all spoke of him so well. The septons continued to decry him, but their crowds grew lesser and lesser, and the sermons grew shorter and shorter… until most of them ended completely. Some of these holy men even went to King's Landing themselves to bring the new king over to reason and allow a godly man to take the throne instead of him… only to have their own questions answered. While most left the capital and returned to their holy work, some shed their septons' garbs and entered Bran the Broken's service. Some began entertaining the godswood of the Red Keep. Others travelled to near and faraway castles to entertain the godswoods' there. Other still, became Ravens.

-0-

**Author's Note: The first chapter, one of many I have planned, about the reign of King Bran the Broken. This was supposed to be only one chapter but it has grown so much in the mere six hours that I have been writing this story. The idea I have right now is to cover Bran's reign through the eyes of different characters who are involved in it. I'm already working on the next one, one with Tyrion as our main character. For now, how did Bran spread news of his ascent to the Six Kingdoms and, more importantly, how was Bran's rule received by the commons of Westeros? Let it not be forgotten that the idea presented is that a sorcerer king has been elected to rule them...**


	3. Cripples Bastards and Broken

**King Bran the Broken – Cripples, Bastards and Broken Things**

Jon Snow's ship had departed for the North, carrying his friend away.

Tyrion would miss Jon. Not as bitterly as he missed Varys, but certainly as much.

On the same day, another of Tyrion's concerns was lifted when he learnt that the Unsullied had set sailed from King's Landing. The new Hand felt safer knowing that at least the whole length of the Narrow Sea would lie between him and Grey Worm.

But that was only one of the very many concerns that rested on his shoulders as the new Hand of the King. He had only been serving in the office for a few days, but he could already feel its weight on his shoulders. It was no more than he deserved and Bran had made it clear that his appointment was to be a punishment of sorts. But Tyrion also knew that a small part of him relished the chance of building the better world he had always believed was possible.

First, he needed to see off the lords and ladies who had chosen to return to their own seats. Some would see them for the first time.

'I'm not even sure if they'll let me in,' Gendry said as Tyrion, Davos and Arya were seeing him off. He would be taking a ship to Storm's End, his father's castle; now his own.

'They best do,' Davos said. 'If they don't, they will be in defiance of a royal command. Besides, it seems that the garrison in Storm's End is eager for… direction.'

It was the only mention any of them made of the king's powers.

'I wouldn't worry about getting into Storm's End, Lord Baratheon,' Tyrion said. 'I'd worry more about the task you must face.'

'Aye, I'm aware.'

'The King is counting on you to restore the Stormlands to what they were, to protect the roads and bring those who claim to be lords to heel.'

'No need of your encouragements, my Lord Hand. Your faith in me warms my heart.'

Tyrion smiled and looked up at Gendry. 'Do you remember the first thing I said about you?'

Gendry nodded his head up and down and sighed, before looking back down at the dwarf. 'You said: 'He'll do.''

'And I meant it.' Tyrion extended his hand.

Gendry looking at him for a very long moment… before clasping his hand. 'Farewell, Lord Tyrion.'

Davos also bid farewell to the boy, but when Arya Stark's turn came, he led Tyrion away. 'That farewell is not for our eyes or our ears.'

But Tyrion could not resist turning to look at the young Lord of Storm's End and the Hero of Winterfell one more time, witnessing the beginnings of an embrace and a kiss before averting his eyes again.

The other great lords and ladies took their leave. Yara Greyjoy took her ship back to the Iron Islands, refusing to linger for long. Prince Doran and Lord Robin Arryn departed by ship, the first making for Sunspear, the second for Gulltown, where he would be taken back to the Gates of the Moon, the Arryns' winter castle. Lord Yohn Royce, in spite of his duties as Lord Protector, remained in the capital to attend to further business, most of it conducted with Sansa Stark. Edmure Tully remained as well, making no secret of the idea that he sought a seat on the Small Council. Tyrion doubted he would accept such a fool on his council, or that Bran would choose him.

Sansa also meant to leave as soon as she could. She had waited in King's Landing until Jon took ship for the North but she needed to return to Winterfell, to assert her new claim as the Queen in the North. The night before she was meant to leave, she dined alone with the king and Arya. Tyrion was not asked to attend, nor did he wish to. It would be the last time the three Starks would be together. As he had understood it, Arya meant to leave Westeros to discover what lay beyond the Sunset Sea. Sansa would return to Winterfell. And Bran would remain in King's Landing.

Yet again, the surviving children of Ned and Catelyn Stark would be separated. But on their own terms this time.

Tyrion expected to see Sansa the next day, before she left for the North…

…but he did not expect to find her in his chambers in the Tower of the Hand.

'Your quarters have improved since the last time we were both here.' She said as he opened the door to his rooms. He had chosen to forgo the larger rooms his father had occupied. He could not sleep in the bed where he had strangled Shae… or use the privy where he had killed Tywin Lannister. Instead, he had decided to make use of the quarters Ned Stark had chosen, those beneath the more ornate higher levels of the Tower.

'As have your prospects, my Lady. From Joffrey's hostage to Queen in the North. You have done well for yourself.'

'I am not queen yet.'

'A mere formality. The lords of the North love you.'

Sansa smiled at that. He noticed that she had two cups of wine before her.

'What could you possibly want with me right now, Sansa? I would have thought you would want to be with the king and Arya.'

She looked at him. 'I'm saying my goodbyes.'

Tyrion understood. He went to the table and sat down. Sansa poured him wine and refilled her own cup. They both drank.

'How ironic.' He said.

'What?'

'When we left here: we were both accused of killing a king… of which we were innocent. This time, we sit free and powerful, a queen and a… servant.' Tyrion drank as he remembered the last time someone who had referred to his time as Hand as being a servant. 'But this time, we are guilty of killing a queen.'

Sansa drank again. 'Daenerys was a threat, and I won't pretend to cry for her. But she wasn't Joffrey. I wish I could have killed him when I had the chance.'

'It would have taken so long for you to have that chance… and much pain.'

'Yes, a lot of pain… but not that long.'

When Tyrion looked at her questioningly, she explained: 'When he took me out onto the Walk of Traitors to show me my father's head…' Tyrion drank, '… I had a chance to push him to his death.'

'Why didn't you?'

'Someone stopped me.'

'Who?'

'Someone kind.'

Tyrion looked across the table at the girl he had once know, at the woman she had become. The steel had always been there, hidden beneath the courtesies and the dreams of dashing knights and handsome princes. She would be a great queen.

'What are you really doing here, Sansa?'

She laughed. 'Reminiscing with an old friend.'

'We do have quite a lot to reminisce about.'

He filled her cup again. She twirled it but did not drink it.

'Do you remember our wedding?'

He choked on his sip of wine, coughing hard. 'Why in the name of the Gods would you want to reminisce about that sorry affair?'

'It wasn't all bad.'

'I threatened to cut off Joffrey's cock… and then told the whole court about how I had once thrown up over a naked girl. I think it was about as bad I can remember.'

'I wasn't thinking of the ceremony. But what happened after.'

'Not much good came of that either.'

'Something did. You were kind to me, kind to a girl who would have done her duty to survive but hated every moment of it. You chose to be simply… kind.'

She brought the cup to her lips but paused before drinking: 'I never would have survived King's Landing without the kindness of strangers.'

Tyrion smiled. 'I once told your brothers that I have a soft place in my heart for cripples, bastards and broken things. You had been through so much I believed you were broken. But I was wrong. You were bruised, bloody and in such pain that I can barely imagine. But you never broke. No once.'

She smiled again, drained her goblet and put it down on the table with what seemed like a terrible sense of finality.

'Do you remember what you promised me that night?'

'It was so long ago, Sansa. I don't think…'

'Tyrion.'

Maybe it was the use of his name that convince, but he looked her in the eyes. 'I promised that I would not force you to consummate our marriage unless you wanted me to.'

'And I told you…'

'… that it might never happen.'

She nodded… and, suddenly, Tyrion understood what she had come to his rooms for. He drained his own cup and set it down hard on the table.

'Sansa…'

'I have known little but cruelty and abuse from other men,' she said getting to her feet. 'You have only ever been good to me.'

'I am not the man you should want.'

'I want you to honour your promise. I want to know what it's like without having to feel like it is a duty. And I want to know what it's like without having to suffer abuse at the hands of cruel men.'

She was standing and soon knelt before him.

'But mostly, I want it to be with the best of them.'

She had placed her hands on his knees. 'Sansa…'

It was so sudden that he could do little to resist. She leant in to kiss him, almost savagely, on the mouth. For a moment, he felt himself succumb; she tasted sweeter than he had ever imagine when he had had the chance to be with her. But his senses returned to him and he pushed her away. 'Sansa, no.'

'Why? You are not forcing me into anything.'

'It's not you,' he said. 'It's me. I can never be with a woman again. Not after what I did.'

'What did you do?'

'If I tell you, I fear you won't look at me the same way. I am not the best of them.'

'You are.'

'I'm not!'

The tears came without him realizing it, and the words also. He told her everything. How he had escaped, how he had found his way into the Tower of the Hand to confront his father… and how he had found Shae in his bed. She listened without betraying an emotion when he told her how he had killed the woman who had once been her friend. And how he had killed his own father.

'So, you see. I'm not the best of them.'

For a moment, she said nothing and Tyrion did not even dare to look at her.

Finally, he felt her fingers under his bearded chin. He got only a bare glimpse of her face before she kissed him again, more softly this time. When she pulled away, she said nothing and nor did he, but something seemed to break… and also heal at the same time within him. The wound was not gone, perhaps it never would. But its pain was dulled. He might see himself as a monster, he might be a monster… but Sansa Stark chose in that moment to stay with him. To fulfil the purpose she had set herself when she had come to the Tower of the Hand.

This time, he leaned in for the kiss.

He did not know how long they remained there but, at some moment, they moved to the bed in the adjacent room. Sansa had already started loosening his doublet but now she turned to her own dark robes. Gradually, the clothes fell to the floor… until the Queen in the North stood naked before him. The vulnerability he saw in her face was clear. For all her strength, it had taken courage to show herself to him in such a fashion. He could see all the hurt and the cruelty that Ramsay Bolton had inflicted on her, the ugly scars that marked her otherwise perfect form.

Tyrion reciprocated by removing his own clothing. Soon, they stood naked before one another.

After a brief moment of contemplation, Sansa extended her hand to him and he took it, letting her lead him to the bed. Soon, he was on her and they were kissing again, exploring each other's bodies. Sansa was in some ways clumsy, but Tyrion was patient with her. He delicately touched the scars she bore and even kissed them. She made him laughed when she said that his beard tickled her and, for a brief while, she was the girl he remembered again as she laughed with him. He waited for her permission to go further but she eventually led him there herself. He was gentle with her and let her lead. As she felt him within her, her lovemaking became more urgent, more passionate. He joined her and, soon, they were both spent, panting from the exertion.

Sansa turned to look at him, her hand finding his beard. 'I knew you were the best of them,' she said with a smile.

-0-

They stayed awake for most of the night, trading stories of their time apart and laughing of things they could laugh about now. Tyrion told Sansa of the things he had seen in the east, the beauties of Pentos, Volantis and Meereen. She told him of her and Jon traveling to the keeps of the North, the struggle to prevent the wildlings and the Northmen from killing each other. She even told him of slapping Robin Arryn across the face, a story that made them both laugh so hard it hurt when Sansa tried to describe the look on the boy's face.

A brief sleep was ended when the dawn came. Sansa rose from the bed, her naked body almost glowing in his eyes in the early morning light. She dressed and he soon joined her. They did not speak until they had reached the door, nor did they speak when they did. But Sansa knelt down and kissed Tyrion once more, the best goodbye she could ever give him.

When, a few hours later, he watched her leaving the courtyard of the Red Keep with a large escort of Northern soldiers around her, he smiled. The world would never know that, in the eyes of the Seven, Tyrion Lannister and Sansa Stark were now man and wife, their legal union having been consummated, and their respective pains put to some measure of rest.

-0-

Alongside Ser Brienne, Tyrion accompanied the king back to the godswood. It was a cold morning, but Bran enjoyed tending to affairs that did not require the attention of a full council between the trees. When they reached the weirwood tree, Ser Brienne excused herself to allow the King and his Hand to speak privately, but she did not go far.

'Did you have a pleasant night, Lord Tyrion?' Bran asked.

Tyrion's head wiped round so fast at his words that he heard something snap in his neck. Bran was looking at him with a slight smile playing on his lips in an otherwise expressionless face. He had noticed this brief remnant of emotion, of _humanity_, in the boy king. It was like a memory of something gone that could never return, but nor could it be forgotten.

Tyrion sighed. 'Pleasant enough,' he said.

He did not wish to speak of this further, nor did he believe Bran wanted to. 'Your Grace, we have urgent matters to discuss.'

'We do. But one most of all.'

Tyrion looked up to see Bran look to the weirwood face of the heart tree.

'We must speak of Casterly Rock.'

Tyrion's stomach tightened at the mention of his childhood home and with slight surprise, for he had not expected this. 'What of it?'

'We must decide what is to be done with it.'

Tyrion nodded.

Casterly Rock was not the only castle they needed to speak of. Since the beginning of the Song, numerous castles had lost their lords and ladies, as great and small houses died out or were relieved of their lands and seats. Some had been granted to other houses, as had been done in the Stormlands; Tywin Lannister had issued a royal decree following the Battle of the Blackwater allowing lords to seize the seats of openly rebellious houses. The Stormlands, bereft of leadership following Stannis's defeat and subsequent departure for the North, fell into chaos as lords begun fighting each other. With the later falls of Casterly Rock and, more importantly, the Sack of Highgarden, order had collapsed to the south as houses fought each other over old grievances, out of naked ambition, or attempts to curry favour with the Crown. A few houses, whose levies had fought at the Goldroad, had sworn themselves to Daenerys, but such oaths had been made in fear and did not stand for long once she had left for Winterfell. Brigands and outlaws had formed into bands and threatened the roads, some even claiming abandoned castles and keeps for themselves. It was such bands who had laid a brief siege to Goldengrove, after taking Coldmoat and Steadfast. The south was in considerable disarray.

Before he had left for Storm's End, Bran and Tyrion had spoken at length to Gendry Baratheon. The new young lord, uncertain of his task now that he had been made the leader of one of the most powerful houses in the Six Kingdoms, had found comfort and eagerness in the idea of a task to occupy him. He had already dispatched letters, counter signed by Bran, to demand the remaining Stormlords pledge themselves to him and provide men to help him bring order to the Stormlands.

Highgarden stood similarly abandoned, save for a small garrison of Lannister soldiers, who had turned the castle into their fortress, fearful of the repercussions of their allegiance. Tyrion already had a solution in mind, but he had yet to discuss it with the king. He had no doubt that Bran probably already knew what the solution was.

As for Casterly Rock, it had been left abandoned after the Unsullied had taken it… until a new army had emerged from the east. Following the deaths of the Frey men at the Twins, Edmure Tully and the other hostages from the Riverlands had been freed from the dungeons and allowed to leave. The young Lord of Riverrun, showing once again the hot blood that ran within him, gathered a new force of Riverlords, composed primarily of the houses who had remained either loyal to Robb Stark, the Blackfish or simply refused to bow to the Freys. Gathering a host of four thousand men, he stunned his vassals by refusing to march on Riverrun and reclaim his father's seat. Instead, he declared he would accomplish what his nephew had planned before the Red Wedding: marching west and taking Casterly Rock from the Lannisters.

When he had come to attend the Great Council, Edmure had boasted of his capture of the castle. But Tyrion knew better. Cersei had left the mighty seat of the Lannisters undefended after the attack… and the one thing that outshone Casterly Rock's strategic position were its gold mines… which Tyrion had learnt had run dry.  
For all his bravado, it was clear that Edmure felt very much the fool he was when he finally claimed his prize without a fight.

'I don't want it,' Tyrion said.

'You have the right to it.' Bran said.

'I do… but I have no desire to set eyes on the place again. It only ever brought me misery.'

'You are the last of the Lannisters. Your family has held the Rock for centuries. You were kings there once.'

'Yes, we were. And it was the memory of that crown that drove my father, no matter what he might have thought. Everything he did was designed to make us kings again. Not merely of the rocks and hills of the Westerlands, but of the entire Seven Kingdoms.'

Tyrion smiled as he remembered once again the days he had spent with Varys in the wheelhouse from Pentos to Volantis.

'Did you know that my father had offered Cersei's hand in marriage to Rhaegar Targaryen?'

'I did.'

'And do you know what Aerys Targaryen told my father?'

'No.'

Tyrion frowned. 'Yes, you do.'

'But this is your story to tell.'

'He said that my father was a good servant, but a servant nonetheless. And princes did not marry the daughters of servants. Of all Aerys's madness, that may have been the maddest act of all. It cost him my father's loyalty… and it may have the moment he decided to ensure his dream of our family's future crown by aligning it with Robert during the Rebellion.'

Tyrion looked at the ruined towers of the Red Keep, standing above them, the rubble still lying around them in places. 'How much pain and misery could have prevented if Tywin Lannister had been less prideful?'

He looked back at the king's expressionless brown eyes. 'I am not my father. You made it clear that my appointment as Hand was meant as much as punishment as it was mercy. I will devote my entire mind and time to helping rebuild our land… not preserving my house. It's time for the Lannisters to truly become servants.'

He ceased speaking, holding Bran the Broken's gaze as they stood or sat in silence.

Finally, the king nodded. 'You are a wise man, Lord Tyrion.'

As they marched back into the small rooms the king had taken for his own beside the godswood, he turned to his Hand. 'Do you remember what you told me when you presented me with my saddle?'

'That I had a soft place in my heart for cripples…'

'…bastards and broken things. Once, we were rejected by this world. Now, it is our task to rebuild it.'

-0-

Later that day, Lord Edmure Tully was summoned to meet with the King and his Hand in the godswood. A signature was all that was needed to confirm him and House Tully in perpetuity as the new Lords of Casterly Rock and Wardens of the West and Rivers. It had also been decided that, when Lord Tully sired a second son, he would inherit the family castle at Riverrun, which would until then be managed by its new High Steward: Ser Otho Rivers. Ser Otho had not become one of the Ravens, choosing to return to Riverrun after his question was answered.

'Such has been decreed,' King Bran said, Tyrion at his side, to a very stunned Lord Tully, 'as a blood price agreed by Lord Tyrion, for the crimes his family committed against yours.'

'Godspeed, my Lord,' Tyrion added. 'Your lands are in need of order and reconstruction.'

Despite worries that the new Lord of Casterly Rock would still insist upon a seat on the Small Council, he left the next day to claim his new seat and begin the task of rebuilding the ravaged west and Riverlands.

That night, Tyrion returned to the Tower of the Hand feeling content. As he stood in the room where he had spent the night with Sansa, he smiled to himself, reminding himself of what he had also told her so many years ago after promising that he would not force himself on her.

He left the room, draped in a cloak to protect himself against the cold air of the winter night, looking down at the ruined city.

'And now my watch begins.'

**Author's Note: Another chapter that took me by surprise. It was originally going to be a much broader chapter about Tyrion's time as the Hand of the King, including mentioning all those who had become members of the Small Council. But from the moment I started writing the scene between Sansa and Tyrion, it just grew into its own thing and I'm very proud of it. I hope you all enjoy it. Next chapter will be about the different members of the Small Council ^^.**


	4. The Lords of Small Matters - Prelude

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay but I've been busy with my work and also struggling to find appropriate directions with certain characters in this story. Originally, this chapter was supposed to be uploaded in bulk as a small check on how each member of the Small Council fared with the dauting task ahead of them. However, as I've been writing it, I've tried to find something appropriate for each of the four members of Bran's Small Council. It's not been easy but I've found something for each of them. In the next few hours, I should have the first of these chapters concerning the Lords of Small Matters up, a chapter dealing with Davos dealing with a far more serious issue than any matter of state. Hope you enjoy ^^.**

**King Bran the Broken – The Lords of Small Matters**

With word of the King's Peace spreading through the realm, Bran and his advisers turned their attention to the other pressing issues that needed to be addressed.

The Great Council had accepted Tyrion Lannister's appointment as Hand of the King, but the entire court that had hovered around Cersei Lannister had either drained away prior to her defeat or been killed in the devastation of the capital. Offices needed to be filled to deal with the Crown's many problems. King's Landing remained in ruins and its people homeless, injured and hungry. Castles throughout the Six Kingdoms lay empty or filled with squatters and the victims or profiters of the war. Bands of brigands roamed the south, particularly in the Reach. While the Vale was spared most of these problems, even they had to deal with increased attacks by the hill tribes descending from the Mountains of the Moon, which kept the Knights of the Vale occupied. Claims were also being put forward that the king and his council needed to address before they had the potential to turn into another war.

While Bran the Broken held his courts of answers in the courtyard of the Red Keep, the minutiae of governance remained firmly in the hands of Tyrion Lannister. The Hand's first priority was filling the offices that he would need in his efforts to rebuild the realm.


	5. Tears for a Son

**The Lords of Small Matters - The Onion Knight**

Ser Davos Seaworth was appointed the Master of Ships, an offer he was glad to accept. Although Sansa Stark had offered to maintain him in her service at Winterfell, he had declined: 'I have a desire to stay in King's Landing,' he told Tyrion when he was approached. 'I might not have been with them through the last years, but they are still my people.'

One of the first task he was given was the reconstruction of the royal fleet, a concern all the greater due to the pressing need for a resumption of trade to the capital and its neighbouring cities. In the first few months following the Great Council, the Crown was forced to rely upon the ships owned by the houses of the Narrow Sea and the eastern shores. Prime among these houses was House Velaryon of Driftmark, who had retained a dozen ships from the destruction of the Baratheon fleet during the Battle of the Blackwater. Although this allowed traders to return to the capital in small numbers by the sealanes of the Narrow Sea, neither Davos nor Tyrion were satisfied by this idea as a long term solution.

'We need a fleet which is beholden to no house, only to the Crown,' Tyrion said one day, in council. 'Is that at all possible?'

'Of course,' Davos answered. 'But we'll need a lot of coin to build such a fleet. And we don't have it. Not yet.'

'We don't need that much coin to start.'

Tyrion's scheme was smart, and Davos's implementation of it was even smarter. A royal decree was soon signed by the king requesting that every house on the shores of the kingdom provide one ship to the new royal fleet, a measure that would only be used once. If the houses could not provide a ship, they would be required to provide enough coin for the Crown to have one built. Davos first spoke out against the idea of such a tax, arguing that the lords would be reluctant to pay a new tax so soon after the end of the war. Instead, the Master of Ships provided a new idea to soften the blow and prevent discontent: while the houses would be required to provide some measure of financial assistance, they would not be required to pay the price of a whole ship. They could provide the Crown with the materials or the hands needed to build the ships. Also, it was insisted that the ship tax would be used only once, not be enshrined as a permanent levy. For the better part of the next year, Davos sailed to the furthest reaches of the shores to convince lords and ladies of the importance of granting the ship tax to the Crown. Haggling and negotiating was something he was so used to that Davos proved a natural at convincing them to fund or equip the new royal fleet.

During his travels on the king's behalf, Davos made two visits that were much closer to his own heart's desire than any need of the Crown.

As he returned from Sunspear with two of Prince Doran's ships, his journey led him through the Stepstones, where he made a stop on Bloodstone, the largest of the small islands which had once made up the Arm of Dorne. There, as he had heard from reports sent to the capital, he found his old friend Salladhor Saan and his fleet.

'He returns like a pale, fucking ghost,' Saan said, his head shaking and eyes incredulous when he saw Davos land in the small port of Bloodstone. The Master of Ships smiled, knowing his friend well enough to know that he was happy to see him. They clasped hands and Saan laughed as he always did after the initial incredulity. 'I would have believed that you would have died with your king and his fire witch.'

'Sometimes, it seems everyone about me dies and only I remain.'

'You are cursed. Any man should know to stay away from you.'

'And yet you never refuse to see me.'

'I have a weakness for cursed men who had their fingers removed by a man they came to love. Such fools are so foolish they cannot truly be fools.'

'You made your share of benefits from Stannis's follies. Did the wildling brews bring you fortune?'

'In ways you couldn't imagine.'

Saan's fleet had been the one to ferry Stannis's army and the sellsword companies he had hired in Braavos from Dragonstone to the Wall… later, he had also taken Jon Snow and his men to Hardhome. He had not, himself, fought against the wights but the screams he had heard had been enough to scare him back to the south. Not before he got his hands on several wildling goods. After the defeat of Mance Rayder's army, Saan had tried one of their drinks… and almost choked himself on it. When he sailed for the Stepstones, he had brought some with him. Not only did he force merchants to pay him a toll to pass through the islands, he also presented some of them with the new drink. Soon, Dornish merchants and Essosi traders had come in flock to buy this new 'Burn', as they had taken to calling it.

'I do all right,' he said, smiling.

They ate and drank, and traded stories for a time until Davos asked the question he truly wanted to. 'Where is she?'

Saan's smiled faded. 'In Braavos, with my wife. She is well.'

'I wish to see her.'

'I do not believe she wishes to see you, however.'

Davos had feared as such.

'She is still my wife.'

Saan sighed. 'In old times, I would not have cared about your family or your problems. I would have been an honest pirate who only cared about himself. But you found a way to make me care. I hate you for that, Davos Seaworth.'

The next morning, Saan's ship set sail from Bloodstone for Braavos, where Davos would be reunited for the first time in years with his wife Marya. As Saan had told him, she was not happy to see him.

The sting was worse than the pain of the slap, taking months if not years of speculation away from his mind with it. He had long wondered how Marya would greet him if and when he returned to her. Often, he had regretted not following Saan's advice and leaving to find her after the Battle of the Blackwater, a time when they could have mourned the loss of their son together. But duty to Stannis, and hatred of the Red Woman, had called him back to Dragonstone.

After she had slapped him, she looked at him with barely contained fury in her gaze. 'Why?'

Davos had expected many questions, but this had been the one he had been dreading most of all. Because he wasn't certain he would be able to answer it.

'I had to,' was all he said. To his own ears, the excuse sounded hollow and half-hearted, and he wished he'd had another answer to give her. But he didn't.

She looked at him with unforgiving eyes, patiently waiting for him to continue although the judgment never left her face. Davos tried his best to explain, to defend his choices and why he had not returned to Marya when she had needed her, all the while aware that nothing he could say would ever dampen her anger or sooth her pain. He wanted to tell her about the Red Woman, about why he couldn't leave Stannis alone with such a being, about Gendry and his responsibility for the ritual that he had been forced to endure, about Shireen and the fatherly love that he had developed for the happy young princess, and the overwhelming despair and grief when he had learnt that they had died before Winterfell. He even tried to explain that, once he had left for the North and lost everything, only surviving by serving new masters could have saved him.

But she accepted none of his excuses.

Nor did Davos expect her to. He knew he hadn't been honest with her, but he could not tell her as such. Because the truth was that he didn't know _himself _why he had returned to his wife. Sometimes, in his moments of greatest doubt, he had told himself that it had been for Shireen.

None of his words swayed the strong woman he had abandoned after the death of their son, and nothing could pierce the cold anger she felt at him. Eventually, he stopped trying. When Davos Seaworth left Braavos the next day, he was alone.

Marya had refused to accompany him back to King's Landing.

For the next few months, Davos threw himself into his work as Master of Ships. The end of the war and the pacification of lands that had been plagued for years by brigands and war had brought a steadily growing stream of coin into the coffers of the treasury. Soon, the Onion Knight had enough funds to beginning the construction of larger galleys. Additional monies were unlocked when, by royal decree, Bran the Broken granted the island of Dragonstone to the Admiralty, with all its lands and incomes. Davos complimented the King's decree by creating a new body to assist in him with command of the royal fleet; six admirals were appointed to serve the Crown with three remaining with the Master of Ships and the King at court, and another three overseeing the safety of the shipping lanes from Dragonstone. By tradition, Davos suggested that one of the admirals be Lord Velaryon of the Tides.

Davos divided his time between King's Landing, Dragonstone and sailing upon the ships that he was building for the Six Kingdoms. His face had become well-known to the shipwrights of King's Landing as he enjoyed overseeing the work on the new ships. He did not expect that, one morning, he would descend to the shipyards to find someone waiting for him.

When he first saw Marya's face, he was so surprised that he did not react. Only after several heartbeats did he move towards her. 'What are you doing here?' he asked, utterly incapable of keeping the surprise out of his voice.

She didn't answer at first. He could see in her eyes that she had yet to forgive him, but her anger was not as strong as it had been when they had seen each other in Braavos.

'I haven't come to see you,' she answered eventually. 'I've come for… answers.'

Davos could not hide his disappointment. 'Would you at least allow me to accompany you to the King?'

A battle seemed to rage for a time within Marya until she eventually consented. They spoke very little during their march up to the Red Keep, and the speaking was often worse than the strained silence. Although his mind was entirely focused on it, not once did Davos ask Marya what question she intended to ask the King.

When they reached the courtyard, Davos left his wife to join the line that had formed before the stairs up which she would find Bran the Broken, flanked by Ser Brienne and Ser Podrick..

Davos returned to his rooms after leaving Marya, giving instructions that he not be disturbed. He tried to focus on his work but found himself unable to. For hours, he paced his quarters, his thoughts drifting to his wife's continued resentment towards him and his inability to find the words that would repair their marriage. And he dwelled on her sudden re-apparition in the capital; Marya had never liked King's Landing. When he had been in Stannis's service, they had divided their time between Dragonstone and Cape Wrath. He had sent her back to their small keep when Ned Stark's messenger had reached the island with word of Robert's death and the illegitimacy of his children. They had not seen each other since. But more than this, he wished to know what she had travelled all this time to ask of the seer-king. In the months since he had taken the throne, Bran the Broken had held the sessions the commons had taken to calling the 'courts of answers', a name that had caught on even in high halls. Thousands of people, if not hundreds of thousands, had come to King's Landing to see him. But few had ever dared to reveal to others what question they intended to ask or the answer they sought. Marya would certainly not reveal any such information to the husband she could barely look upon anymore.  
But the phantom of the question haunted Davos for the remainder of the day.

Until night came…

…and Marya came to his rooms.

When the knock came upon his door, he shouted at whoever was on the other side to leave him be.

When his wife walked in, he almost jumped out of his chair.

Instantly, he could see that something was different. The resentment wasn't gone. Not yet. But she wasn't looking at him the same way. There was something new in her eyes, something that hadn't been there when he had seen her again in Braavos. It almost looked like understanding.

'Would you like some wine?' he asked, unsure what to do or say, or what she had come to him for.

'No,' she said simply. There was no hostility in her voice.

'Did you see the King?'

'I did.'

Another silence followed. One Davos could stand only so long.

'Did he answer your question?'

'No.'

Davos's surprise must of shown on his face because the closest thing to amusement he had seen appeared on that beloved face. 'He told me that I already knew the answer to the question I wanted to ask. And that he wasn't the one I needed to ask.'

She moved tentatively towards him, as if she was unsure whether she wanted to get any closer.

'He said he would answer my question if I wanted him to… but that only one person could answer it and give the comfort I want.'

She took one more step. 'Here goes she said,' and Davos saw the nervousness in her face and heard it in her tone. He drew a sharp breath.

'Did you cry?'

For the first few beats, they merely looked at each other. Davos was more surprised now than at any other point in this whole unreal day. For a time, he didn't understand what answer Marya was looking for.

'Did I cry?'

'Yes. For Matthos.'

It was as though someone had suddenly lit a candle in a dark room… or broken a dam and let the water out. Except the water was pain.

'What?' he asked, aghast.

'Did you cry… for our son.' She said the last part with a sob in her voice.

His first thought was to say that he had…

…but he couldn't.

He thought back to all that happened since the Blackwater, all the betrayals and disappointments he had faced, all the joys and heartaches. None of which pierced him as much as the memory of Shireen's cruel and pointless death. The pain of pledging his service to a man who had sacrificed the best thing he had made for power. The horrors he had witnessed at the Battle of Ice and Fire. The wonder of beholding living dragons, and the devastations they could cause. He had raged, he had smiled, he had even laughed. And yes, he had even cried.

But, as his mind raced through the past seven years of horrors and carnage that had been the Song of Ice and Fire, he realized that not once in the onslaught of madness, cold and flame that had been his life among the high and mighty of Westeros had even shed a single tear for the son he had lost.

The realization numbed everything out of Davos, driving any other thought and concern from his mind.

He felt his knees giving way beneath him.

His eyes were wide open but he could no longer see what was in front of him.

The word struggled to make its way through his lips…

…but it eventually did.

'No.'

And he collapsed to his knees as the wave of grief that he had been pushing back for seven years came crashing into him. His life of service, his dedication to finding the solutions to solve other people's problems, had protected him for all these years… but could not withstand the simple truth.

Now, Davos remained on the ground, tears falling down his face as he cried for Matthos, the boy he had not even gotten to bury. He wailed at the cruelty of a world that had let him live but had taken his son. He cursed all gods, old and new, of death or fire, who had robbed him of the best thing he had ever made.

He wasn't sure for how long he cried before he felt Marya's hands around him, comforting him. She was crying too, tears of grief and joy mingled together.  
Grief for the son she had lost.

Joy for the husband who had returned to her.

For the whole of the night, Davos and Marya cried and comforted each other until they felt utterly spent. Not once did they leave the floor. Not once did they let go of each other.

It wasn't until the morning that they felt the strength to rise.

And once they were both standing, they embraced as though they had just found each other again. Which they had.

The next day, Davos met with both the King and Tyrion, begging for leave to remove himself to Dragonstone for the foreseeable future. Lord Velaryon could assume his duties in his capacity as Lord Admiral, until such time as Davos needed to return. Tyrion wished to protest; he had a need for the former smuggler who had become such an invaluable part of the Small Council. But he was overruled by Bran.

'Take as long as you require, Ser Davos.'

'Thank you, Your Grace.' The King and his Master of Ships locked eyes for what seemed like a long moment. There was more that passed in that look than mere gratitude for the granting of leave, Tyrion saw.

For the next few months, Davos and Marya remained on Dragonstone, reconnecting after so many years apart. Sharing stories of the son they had lost and grieving his loss as they had always been meant to: together.

When they agreed that their grief had been born long enough, they returned to the capital.

Davos returned to his usual routine, managing the affairs of the Crown and the growing royal fleet.

Marya, as the highest lady of the realm in the absence of a queen, became the new mistress of the Red Keep. Soon, she was managing the King's household and managing the formalities of the growing courts of answers, which grew to include feasts of charity for the most desperate.  
Never again would Davos Seaworth and his wife be apart.

**Author's Note: This chapter took me so much longer to write than I wanted but I'm really glad with how it turned out. Davos is one of my favourite characters and I wanted to do him justice. I wanted all the four members of the Small Council to be faced with a situation they had not expected and with something that would challenge them while staying true to the character. In Davos's case, how would he be greeted by a wife he had not seen in seven years? One he had not returned to to share in the grief of losing a son?**


	6. The Titles They Give Us

**The Lords of Small Matters - Brienne the Beauty**

A year had passed since the Great Council of 305.

Although the snows had receded and the roads to and from King's Landing were once again usable, the cold had remained and few dared brave its bite to leave the warmth of their hearths unless forced to. Fires had been lit in some of the hovels that had spawned in the ruins left by the dragon's flames and small or large crowds had gathered around them. The reconstruction of the capital had stalled and, although several boroughs had already been rebuilt to the state they had known before the war, a distrust of the Red Keep continued to haunt some of those who had survived the destruction. Bands of men defied the king's soldiers with impunity, often assisted by the complicity of fearful or disgruntled smallfolk. One of the largest of these gangs, proudly showing off their burns, became known as the Burnt Men. Although the Hand had attempted to send in workers to rebuild the lost boroughs, they had been futile attempts due to resistance from the locals and, although King Bran's Sight allowed him to identify the ditches where the bands found their refuge, men lacked to address the issue. A thorough reconstruction of the City Watch was needed.

Therefore, the new recruits were brought into the yards of the Red Keep where they were expected to receive their training and restore peace to the troubled city. With an uneasy truce holding thanks to the rigours of the winter, especially following the last snows, the Small Council decided to enact a new training plan: not only would recruits be brought in but others, desperate for food, would be invited to attempt the training. The pay was meagre but, in such hard times, even a little coin went a long way to changing a family's fortunes.

As such, many men and even some women found their way to the top of Aegon's High Hill on mornings when the snows no longer marred the paths.  
In the absence of a master-at-arms, their training was ensured by Ser Podrick Payne, of the Kingsguard. The food was provided by Lady Seaworth, who had taken charge of the king's care for those pilgrims who still braved the harsh winter to seek answers in Bran the Broken's courts. The training was hard, and Ser Podrick was aided in his efforts by men who knew of the hardships of fighting in winter. Most of them were fighters who had remained in the south rather than return to the North with Queen Sansa, eager to spare their families another mouth to feed in the dark days of winter. A few Valemen had also joined the ranks of these experienced trainers, although the Vale's allegiance to the Crown was still uncertain. They were hard men training desperate ones, but in that desperation, they saw a sincere desire to survive and provide. Few left and all worked hard. Within weeks, the number of men and women patrolling the ravaged streets of the capital had doubled. They had yet to truly wet their swords in fights against the Burnt Men or any of the other gangs, but their mere presence inspired some semblance of normalcy to return to King's Landing. While they knew of the location of their foes thanks to the king, Bran the Broken and his Hand dismissed any notion of taking the fight to them yet. The city had suffered enough; they would be in no mood for a fight and those who had yet to embrace the protection of the gangs might be convinced to join them at last.

One morning, the recruits of the City Watch found themselves in the courtyards of the Red Keep facing not only Ser Podrick or his captains, but the one they had heard so much about but had yet to see. The first of a new generation of fighters, fully acknowledged for the first time by a world that had once dismissed them.  
Ser Brienne of Tarth, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, was standing before the assembled guards, ready to address them all.

The time of the 'Winter Tourney' had come.

-0-

_As the days since her induction into the Kingsguard passed into months, Brienne found herself sitting up late into the cold winter nights, holding vigil in White Sword Tower. The heavy tome of the Book of Brothers sat before her on the table, unopened. Some nights, she would turn its aged pages, reading of the great deeds she knew only too well from the stories she had been told. No matter how many times she read it, her eyes would always seek out the pages outlying the deeds of Ser Jaime Lannister, her biased mind always wondering whether she had been too hard on him or whether she hadn't been hard enough. But not once did she seriously consider changing a single word. Nevertheless, they weighed on her mind. To any outsider reading those words, Brienne knew, Jaime would have the appearance of a hero; a conflicted one but a hero nonetheless. And yet, she had known him. He had been a man of honour, of that she had no doubt. But he had also been a cruel man, a man divided between honour and desire. Could such a man truly have been a knight? Could such a man truly be remembered as one of the great heroes of the Song of Ice and Fire, as one of the truly great members of the Kingsguard?_

_And she thought these thoughts, she remembered other words he had once said to her, before she had started to see him for who he truly was. Words she had never truly forgotten. And all her questions seemed to form into a single one._

_What was a knight? And what were they meant to be?_

_On such nights, when her thoughts turned grim, she turned to the next pages of the Book; those that had still to be filled._

_One night, after many sleepless contemplations, she finally left White Sword Tower to find the one person who might be able to assuage her fears. And give her hope for the future._

_'Ser Brienne,' Bran the Broken said as she found him before the small fire of his sparse rooms. "What can I help you with?"_

_No matter how many times she came to the small set of rooms which had been furnished for the new King, Brienne could never help but be struck by their simplicity. Nothing ornate or representing the trappings of royalty could be seen, save the clothes that the seamstresses of King's Landing who had survived the devastation had made specially for the new monarch. Even these robes proved surprisingly simple for the most powerful ruler in Westeros. But, more disturbing to any stranger was the absence of anything personal. Every ruler, from the most grandiose to the humblest, infused their personality into the privacy of their rooms. But in Bran's, no such manifestations were visible._

_Brienne came to stand before her king with her back to the fire. 'Your Grace…' she was unsure of how she wanted to argue her idea. Indeed, she wasn't even certain she would tell Bran what had been keeping her awake most nights since she had been inducted into the Kingsguard. 'I have… concerns.'_

_'I sensed as much.'_

_Brienne managed not to betray any emotion at the comment; she was uneasy about her king's abilities, not so much because of their existence, but more because she did not understand what their limits were. Had he actually sensed what she'd been agonizing to say? The ambition that had grown in her in the years since she had heard the tale of the Mad King's death from Jaime Lannister? The desire she had to finally see it enacted?_

_Perhaps not._

_But magic was a mysterious force she understood little of; or, more precisely, she understood nothing of it._

_Nevertheless, Bran the Broken had made it clear from his first proclamation that he did not intend to use his powers to rule by fear or abuse. He had announced his intent to share his gift with his kingdoms; the courts of answers were the clearest show of this intent. Their popularity was such that the Small Council had begun making plans for a royal progress throughout the Six Kingdoms once the snows receded enough to allow travel. Bran himself had given his assent to the idea and had become heavily involved with the planning for the destinations of such a journey._

_Now, Brienne intended to avail herself of whatever gift the King possessed._

_'I… wish to know more… more of the Brothers and their deeds.'_

_'Are you still uncertain of the legacy you've ascribed to Ser Jaime?'_

_'No uncertainty, Your Grace. No longer at least.'_

_She did not want to speak at length about Jaime. She still could not remember the brief time they had spent together at Winterfell without equal amounts of joy and pain. The rawest pain was that he had willingly chosen to leave her for Cersei. It was so vivid that it sometimes ached at moments when she did not expect it._

_'Ser Jaime was… a complicated man. He accomplished great deeds and evil ones. He had his own sense of honour, warped though it was. Every word I wrote in the Book was true… but none will know what it was like to know him, to truly know him.'_

_She paused, unable to convey with mere words the complex thoughts she had been struggling with for years. 'I feel that I… must know about the others. The great knights from the songs and stories. Gerold Hightower, Corlys Velaryon, Aemon the Dragonknight, Arthur Dayne, Criston Cole. Were they the great men the legends speak of… or were they just men, with their own demons who…?'_

_She couldn't finish the sentence._

_Had she been speaking to any other man, she would most as like been dismissed without a second thought._

_But Bran the Broken was no mere man; he was so much more than that._

_'I can tell you all you wish to know. But the answers are yours alone to find. I can only help you find them.'_

_Brienne nodded. 'I understand, Your Grace.'_

_The remainder of the night, they spoke. Or rather, Bran spoke between trances and Brienne's questions. He spoke of the honourable Criston Cole, who had broken his oath to be with the woman he loved and gave her throne to another because of the regret for the betrayal of his vows; of Gerold Hightower's doubts about the Mad King, his plans to betray him but his reluctance to damage Rhaegar Targaryen's chances to ascend the Iron Throne; of Aemon Targaryen's loyalty to a brother he hated and penance for the lust he felt for a woman he knew he should not want; of Olyver Bracken and Raymund Mallery, whose oaths could never bind them; of Duncan the Tall, who never felt at his ease at court or among the powerful, and who doubted before every battle; of Joffrey Doggett, who lay down his sword to defend a dynasty he had defied when he found a king worth following. He told her stories of their great deeds and the secrets of their lives that none had ever known; of the battles they had fought in for their kings or for themselves, and of the demons they had faced alone when none were there to see or remember.  
_

-0-

As the new members or recruits of the City Watch and the soldiers of the Red Keep's garrison gathered, Brienne looked upon them all with an unreadable expression. It wasn't until they had all gathered that she finally spoke.

'I stand before you,' she started, her voice powerful enough to carry over the crowd without the need for shouting. 'a knight of the Six Kingdoms, a servant to king and commons alike, and as a woman serving as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Some of you may doubt that I have any right to bear these titles or speak to you in such a capacity. I am, after all, a woman. And women have not traditionally been knights. And to all who believe so, I say… you are right.'

A murmur ran through the crowd at these unexpected words. But Brienne was not done. 'In the past, the honours and duties of knighthood have been reserved to men and, as the practice evolved, it also became about nobility. Not the composition of one's character, but the circumstances of their birth or the greatness of their lineage. Knighthoods became things to be sold for honour and glory that were seldom earned.'

A murmur of ascent went through the crowd.

'To this idea, I say: 'No more.' I am a new knight. And I wish others to join me in upholding the honour of our brotherhood. Men and women of similar honour and determination.' She paused. 'Today, with the King's blessing and by his law, I declare that all those dreaming of knighthoods will have the chance to prove themselves. Not to lords or to kings, but to us: their fellow knights. We shall supervise their trials and allow them to present their skill. If they are found worthy, the honour of knighthood will be confirmed upon them.'

She continued by explaining the further changes she had spoken of with Bran. Henceforth, as soon as their ranks had replenished, one knight of the Kingsguard would take to the road and find the tourneys where they happened and ensure to judge the aspirant knights on their merits.

But the judgment of the Kingsguard would not be the only trials that would come to knighthood. Two more trials would be required of aspirants before they could be knighted. 'All knights are raised and trained believing that only their skill in the joust or the melee is enough for them to rise. But too many have forgotten the need to fight side by side in the worse fights.' She paused and looked down briefly, remembering the not so distant past. 'I know, perhaps more than most, that the road to knighthood is a solitary one. None thought me, Brienne the Beauty, worthy of anything, not even when I proved my worth to them. Only one who was an adversary, an enemy, ever gave me the recognition I craved. It was Ser Jaime Lannister…' a rumble went through the crowd, '… the Kingslayer, who recognized me as his equal. It was he who knighted me when every tradition went against it. And it was at his side that I fought during the Battle of Ice and Fire.'

Brienne paused again, aware that the attention of every member of the crowd was firmly on her.

'Fighting together should measure the worth of a knight. The Andals knew of it long before we did. They insisted on their justice being delivered before the Gods by a Trial of Seven, where seven knights would fight to prove the truth or falsehood of a claim.'

'Now, such a trial will be restored to prove the ability of aspirant knights to fight alongside comrades, as the final test of their valour.'

And so, that day in the courtyard of the Red Keep, the men and women who had volunteered to join the City Watch were offered the chance to prove themselves worthy of becoming the first knights of the Six Kingdoms of Westeros.

-0-

_One night, after a long day observing the progress of the aspiring knights in the courtyard of the Red Keep, Brienne returned to White Sword Tower. Tyrion Lannister was waiting for her, the Book of Brothers open in front of him._

_'Ser Brienne.'_

_'Lord Tyrion.'_

_'I'm not certain you are required to call me that anymore.'_

_'Call you what.'_

_'"Lord".'_

_'Why shouldn't I?'_

_'Some would not consider it proper for a former lord.'_

_'Others would say the Hand of the King deserves it more than most.'_

_Tyrion smiled sadly. 'Perhaps.'_

_He rose and she saw, unsurprisingly, that he had a cup in his hand. He reached for the wine which was always delivered to her chambers but which she seldom partook in. She knew Podrick liked to indulge from time to time (and that Tyrion sometimes joined him) but she rarely did. Tyrion knew as much, but he still poured her a glass. He let it sit next to the jug rather than hand it to her though._

_'Titles are an inconvenience,' he continued as he returned to his seat. 'They make things difficult. 'Either you want them which usually means that everyone else wants them too. Or they're given to you and you want nothing more than to be rid of them. I'm sure you understand that as well as I do.'_

_Brienne smiled and walked towards the table. 'You wonder whether we should call you 'Lord'. There are those who still resist calling me 'Ser'.'_

_'Are the septons causing trouble again?'_

_'When are they not?'_

_'A leaderless, embattled faith must find demons where it can. I dare say we are even more similar than I once believed: we are both symbols of decadence and corruption. The unholy path the Seven Kingdoms has fallen into by choosing a sorcerer king. Advised by a demon monkey and the woman who believes herself a knight.'_

_Brienne had heard the reports too. The religious frenzy which had gripped the capital during King Tommen's brief reign had appeared to rear its head again as the septons preached against the heathen sorcery the Lords of Westeros had invited to sit on the throne. Some had even gone as far as saying that time had come for a crusade against the North, where the cult of demonic spirits should be eliminated to make way for the worship of the Seven. But the fight had gone out of the Kingslanders. The destruction of the Great Sept of Baelor had buried their newfound faith and the ravages of the dragon had broken what had remained of their spirit. Those few who chose to take up the septons' calls were not nearly enough to even form a troupe, let alone wage war on the heathen North or bring down the sorcerers in the Red Keep as their forebears had once brought down the dragons in the Dragonpit. Besides, these septons did not seem to have the cunning of the Sparrows who had understood that religious fervour could feed a crowd… but punctuating it with a full belly made it much easier to swallow._

_ Brienne looked at Tyrion as he swirled his wine in his cup without drinking it. He looked tired and she saw a few more strands of grey in his hair and beard._

_'Do you miss him?' He asked suddenly._

_'What?!'_

_Tyrion looked up at her. There was sadness in his eyes._

_There was only one person he could be talking about. 'Sometimes.'_

_She wanted to reach for the wine he had poured for her; no doubt he had done so because he had known how difficult it would be to speak of Jaime. But she merely sat down. Reaching for the wine would only bring back another memory of their time together, the merriness of the game they had played in Winterfell after confronting death itself._

_The Hand rested his small hand on the cover of the Book of Brothers. For a brief moment, the light of the flames cast the whole book in its shadow. 'Pod told me that you had written something about him in this tome. I've known for a few weeks now. And I've finally mustered enough courage…' he might have emphasized the sip he took '… to come and see for myself how the future will remember him.'_

_Brienne was surprised that she felt nervous for the first time since she had written Jaime's words in the Book. Tyrion was the only one left who had known Jaime as she had; the only one who had loved him. She might care what others would say of her words, but she could deal with that. She wasn't sure she could take disapproval from Tyrion. Nor was she sure whether she could accept his approval._

_Tyrion looked her in the eyes when he next spoke: 'He will be remembered.'_

_She wasn't entirely sure what the words meant. But she saw in the dwarf's eyes something she had felt more often than not in her own mind. Satisfaction. He approved of her account._

_'I do miss him,' she confessed to him. 'Sometimes so much it hurts. And sometimes I hate what he did and why he did it. And I want to understand why.'_

_Tyrion nodded. 'My brother was a complicated person. I'm not sure even he understood any of it. There were no men like him: only him.'_

_That did it. Brienne rose suddenly, reached for the wine and drained the cup in one gulp. The sudden rush went straight to her head so she put the cup back down and returned to her seat._

_'Was it something I said?' he eventually asked._

_'Something he said… which you just repeated. He said that very thing to Catelyn Stark when he was her prisoner.'_

_There was a long silence._

_'It's the titles the world throws at us.' Tyrion said. 'Brienne the Beauty, the Imp, the Kingslayer. Even the Mad King or the Dragon Queen. It's how we try to make sense of the world. The world's fucked but we don't like that. So we try to simplify it. It's a pity it ends up actually making it more difficult to understand.'_

_Brienne laughed at that. 'What strange pitiful creatures we are.'_

_'Yes, we are.'_

-0-

Word of the Winter Tourney spread throughout the city in the days that followed.

Some came to participate. Others came to watch. All came because it was new. Because it was entertaining. A few even knew that they could make a profit from it. Though the garrison did not like it, King Bran ordered that, much like for the courts of answers, the courtyard of the Red Keep should be opened to the commons. The king himself did not appear to observe the tourney. But the Hand of the King and several of the lords of the Small Council did.

The tourney started with a mêlée, a grand confrontation for all those who wished to prove themselves and demonstrate their skill at arms. But skill at arms was not what she was looking for.

-0-

'_Why are you doing this?'_

_She turned to him. Although they had now known each other for some time, the Hand had rarely seen her lower her guard, not as she had when they had celebrated together in the aftermath of the Night King's defeat. That night, he had pierced her defences in a way that he suspected no one ever had, dragging out a secret that she kept well because she did not try to hide it, but one she'd still felt protective of._

_At first, she didn't seem to want to answer him. So Tyrion did what he always did when someone shut down in front of him._

_He talked._

_'Skill at arms is a remarkable thing. A feat that I have never possessed. Of course, I have known only one true battle where I carried a weapon, but I like to think that I was good at the fight.'_

_Brienne scoffed, something that seemed to surprise her. 'You disagree, Ser Brienne.'_

_'You are a terrible fighter, my Lord Hand.'_

_ 'Maybe I am. My talents lie elsewhere. But you… you turned sword fighting into a true art form. I have seen you fight. And my brother mentioned how you defeated him when you fought on your journey to King's Landing.'_

_'It wasn't easy,' she said and she meant it. No matter what she had told Jaime after their fight, he'd come very close to besting her. She had seen the skill beneath the weakness his imprisonment had brought upon him. In a way, the sword had been like a third arm. And she had seen the despair in him when he had lost it. She had seen his bravado when they had returned to court and he had trained relentlessly to overcome his new difficulty. And how his fighting had become more desperate and brutal in the battles that had followed._

_'Maybe not,' Tyrion continued. 'But you still defeated the legendary Kingslayer. Love him or hate him, my brother had no equal with a blade. He wanted to be a legend; did you know that? He was never a scholarly man, not by a long stretch. But he poured over stories of the old knights of the Kingsguard, over the fables of the Andal knights, even of the warrior-kings of the First Men. He didn't just want to be one of them: he truly believed that he was one.' Tyrion smiled and drank from his cup. 'My brother never lacked for ambition.'_

_Brienne didn't answer. She had seen that fire burning in Jaime even after the length of his imprisonment at the hands of the Starks, even after the loss of his hand. But more than anything, she had seen it when he had spent hours reading the various entries of the Kingsguard knights in the Book of Brothers, and when he had asked her to read his own entry before sending her to find Sansa and Arya. _

-0-

The mêlée revealed several brave and skilled fighters. Many of them became favourites of the crowd. Brienne kept an eye on all of them, assessing with criticism that she had shared with no one save Podrick. Her fellow Kingsguard had also be charged with keeping his eye on the contestants and reporting who he believed would be worth consideration for the final trial.

As the days of the Winter Tourney passed, life returned to King's Landing as something other than the hardships the devastations had left them with occupied the thoughts of the commons. Even the highborn who remained within the capital started converging to the courtyard of the Red Keep to watch the mêlées, eagerly awaiting the moment when they would move on to the jousts. Tales rang in the streets, makeshift taverns and hovels on the three hills about the new favourites. They were as diverse as Brienne had hoped and they provided the commons with something to speak of.

The first to distinguish himself was a young, golden haired boy from the Westerlands named Haleth. He chose the spear as his weapon, making up for the small size of a fifteen-year old with its length and an agility that few could match. After he brought down the giant Reachman called Svarn in the first fight, the commons granted him his own title: the 'Sting'.

Svarn himself was a drunken red-haired giant from the Reach and he also stood out… in every sense of the word. He never dogged attacks but never seemed to notice when they hit him. Whether that was because of his size or because of his drink, none could actually say. But he won several fights before falling, quite spectacularly, to Haleth the Sting.

A grey-haired, but young-faced mother named Calan, who had lost both her children to the fires of King's Landing, fought with a ferocity but also proved a useful ally to have. She would fight for her allies as hard as she fought against adversaries. Her best ally became an arrogant young man but a remarkable fighter called Cato. The young man fought with a morningstar and with such ferocity that he needed to be restrained at times from going too far. Calan proved effective at tempering his battle rage.

A duo of Ironborn, who had remained in the capital after Queen Yara had returned to the Iron Islands, also caught the attention of the crowd. One was a fierce crowd pleaser named Eist, who never seemed to take the fight seriously. All he seemed to care about was how fun it was to hack away at someone. He was a crowd favourite… but no one serious put money on him making it as a knight. Another, whose name never registered with the crowd but who would soon answer to the name of the Iron Pyke, fought with knives alone with such skill that drew the awe of the crowd… but no admiration: he did not seem to care about the pain or the permanent injuries he caused in his adversaries.

Another favourite was a dandy who, according to rumours brought to her ears by Podrick, was quite popular with the women of King's Landing. Especially the richer, older ones. He had learnt to fight off cuckolded husbands and protective brothers long before the dragon ever came the capital. His name was Cael and he enjoyed putting on a show before taking the stage. But once he had a sword in hand, his demeanour changed and he became a force to be reckoned with.

All fought well and hard.

And all earned the right to compete in the Trial by Seven.

When the time came for the trial, Brienne did not take the alliances which had formed into account. In fact, she deliberately ignored them.

The fourteen champions of the Tourney were divided. The two Ironborn were placed on different teams, just as Calan and Cato Morningstar (as the commons had come to know him). On the other hand, Svarn (invited despite his frequent defeats) and Haleth the Sting were asked to fight on the same team. None knew what would happen. But the choice did not sit well with some. The Morningstar blatantly challenged the decision when he learnt that he would not be with Calan and the mother noticeably paled when she heard the decision. The attachment between them had become obvious. Svarn had laughed and threatened that he might not be able to resist stamping down on the Sting… by accident, he said. Haelth said nothing, nor did Eist, the Iron Pyke or the dandy.

Nor did Brienne change her decision.

The fight began on the fourteenth day following the start of the Winter Tourney.

-0-

_'So what are your ambitions, Ser Brienne?'_

_She turned to look once again at the Hand. Tyrion had a way of drawing things out of people that was hard to resist. Often, he knew what it was he was looking for, but he seemed to want them to end up saying it themselves. 'My ambitions?'_

_'Why this tourney? Why these changes? You are the first woman to have become a knight since the Andals brought the concept of knighthood over from the east. You have already defied tradition and the weight of history in ways that have never been done before. You have left as indelible a mark in the Book of Brothers as my brother did by his defiance. So what more could aim for?'_

_Following that, Tyrion remained silent.  
_

_ Brienne also did for a time._

_But then, she spoke._

_'When I served Catelyn Stark, I was brought with her to see Jaime in his cell. She threw the same accusations everyone had thrown at him all his life. The same accusations I had always believed. And he didn't deny them. He taunted her with her contempt for him by throwing the memory of Ned Stark's bastard back in her face. But he also spoke a truth I had never heard: how can a knight swear to serve his king and defend the people? How does he respond when the king orders him to kill his people? How does he act when the people take up arms against an unjust king? The very concept of knighthood is a contradiction. How many knights have defied those contradictions and been demonized? How many have flouted them and been considered chivalrous? How many have violated them and are now honoured above all else?'_

_She looked straight into the dwarf's eyes so he would know she was deadly serious._

_'Above all else, I want to correct that contradiction.'_

_She had never believed she would ever tell anyone. She could think of no greater honour to a conflicted legacy._

_Tyrion remained grave throughout her speech. And then he smiled._

_As he looked upon the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, he thought about how she had changed Jaime Lannister, the arrogant golden lion for the better. He thought Podrick Payne, the shy squire he had taken under his wing but had never had any higher aspirations for beyond protecting him from his enemies. She had taken him, protected him and trained him to become a talented swordsman who know trained many of the Red Keep's guards. She had brought out a new confidence in him, one that made brave. _

-0-

The fight would be worthy of songs, the commons later said when Ser Brienne finally stood to declare the victors and the Winter Tourney came to an end.

Cato Morningstar had been the victor, of that there was no doubt. The ferocity he had brought to battle had been worse than any he had given before. He fought alone and against all enemies who presented themselves before him. Untempered by Calan's presence at his side, he waged what seemed to be a personal war against the others. The greatest show of his skill came when he faced the Iron Pyke. At first, the Ironborn's knives seemed to dance around the morningstar but never were they able to reach him. One blade eventually made it through, striking his arm and bringing forth greater savagery. Soon, the Iron Pyke's seeming dance of stinging attacks and defences was broken and the dreaded islander was on his back on the tiles of the courtyard, broken by the savagery of the Morningstar.

Cato next turned his wrath on Svarn, but quickly discovered that he had bitten off more than he could chew. The morningstar made dents into the large Reachman but never enough to stop him and, as the giant smashed his large fist into Cato's helmed face and threw him to the ground, it seemed the Morningstar's glow was finally fading… until Cael swooped in to distract Svarn's attention. The two would continue their dance until the end, Cael swerving and avoiding while Svarn tried to reach the dandy while collecting more and more wounds.

Recovering his morningstar and removing his helm, Cato re-joined the fray, turning his wrath onto the Sting. The boy proved a challenging fight, his spear giving him the ability to remain far enough to avoid the morningstar's blows. Many onlookers began to make wagers as they watched the fight, tales spreading of a similar fight which had happened years before in King's Landing, between a viper and a mountain. Most bet on the Sting; others remembered that, more often than not, the mountains won.

And eventually, it seemed like this mountain would. The spear shattered under the blows of the morningstar and Haleth fell to the ground. Suddenly, as the crowd gasped in surprise and the defeated Sting turned back into a scared fifteen-year-old boy before the glare of Cato's rage, it seemed like the first death of the tourney would happen.

Cato raised his morningstar…

…which was intercepted by Eist's sword.

As the two men circled each other, Calan joined the fight, placing herself between Cato and the Sting. The Ironman and the mother fought well against the Morningstar… but in vain. Eist's sword was broken, as was his arm. And Calan, though she fought against her former ally, could not hold against him. Eventually, she did the one thing she could do to protect herself and her allies from the Morningstar's wrath.

'I YIELD.' She shouted.

And the Winter Tourney ended.

Ser Brienne rose and looked down at the contestants. Now was the greatest of all moments, the entire crowd knew. The moment when Cato Morningstar would be declared the victor and his knighthood would be conferred upon him by Ser Brienne of Tarth, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. The first knight of the Six Kingdoms.

But that was not what happened.

'You have all fought valiantly and proved your skill at arms. But you must now rest. Return tomorrow to this stage. Take this one night to pray or reflect on what knight you would be. Your final task is upon you.'

And with that, followed by Ser Podrick, she returned within the Red Keep.

That night, in the hall granted to the contestants of the Trial by Seven, as the healers worked on them, a visitor came to see them.

The next morning, the crowds gathered to find the stage occupied by someone they had no longer expected to see. King Bran the Broken sat in his wheeled chair before the twelve champions (the Iron Pyke and Svarn had both taken too many injuries to leave their beds). Standing behind the king were the two knights of his Kingsguard, Ser Brienne the Beauty and Ser Podrick Payne. And at his side was Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King. He was holding a sword that looked far too big for him. It had once been called Widow's Wail and was of Valyrian steel. Now, it had no name.

With little fanfare, King Bran called out several names. Haleth the Sting, Calan, Eist, the losers of the previous day's trial, stepped forward. Mumbling began in the crowd. Was the king going to honour the losers as well as the victors?

Bran spoke again. 'To win in battle is a great feat. But how we win also matters. Many of you witnessed yesterday a great feat. Not the feat of defeating your enemies; such a thing is the easiest accomplishment of any war. But the sacrifice made by those who would give their own lives and limbs to protect their comrades in arms. Such a feat is far rarer.'

Gasps could be heard in certain parts of the crowd as the realization of what was going to happen hit them.

'Calan and Eist gave all they had against great odds to defend Haleth. All three have proven themselves worthy of gaining the distinction offered by this tourney: to become the first knights of the Six Kingdoms.'

Ser Brienne and Ser Podrick stepped forward, drawing their swords. Lord Tyrion handed the sword to the king, who drew it from its scabbard. Haleth, Eist and Calan knelt before them. As one person, the king and his knights spoke the ritual words:

_ 'In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave._

_'In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just._

_'In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent. Arise…'_

_'Ser Eist…'_

_'Ser Calan…'_

_'Ser Haleth…'_

_'…knights of the Six Kingdoms.'_

The three newly-made knights rose, the shock on their faces mingling with a rapidly surging joy. A first pair of hands joined in applause among the crowd, timid at first before growing stronger… followed by another, and another. Until the entire crowd cheered and shouted the names of the new knights.

'SER CALAN  
'SER HALETH  
'SER EIST…'

'… KNIGHTS OF THE SIX KINGDOMS.'

As the cheers grew, only one person refused to celebrate. Only the anger that drove his ferocity could be seen on the face of Cato Morningstar.

-0-

Within days, Ser Eist, Ser Haleth and Ser Calan took to the winter roads of the Six Kingdoms as knights, to spread the king's word. In the years that followed, the Winter Tourney would grow as a tale, becoming a favourite of the commons.

More tourneys would be held and the roaming knights of the Kingsguard, which steadily grew to once again include seven knights, administered the two trials that would determine the worth of aspirant knights. Ser Eist himself would eventually be invited to join the ranks of the Brotherhood.

And Ser Brienne of Tarth, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, recorded these deeds in the Book of Brothers.

-0-

"The Trial of the Sight is the last, most sacred of the trials required for elevation to the knighthood. And the only true way to ascertain knighthood. Skill at arms and valour in combat are valued but do not show the true worth of a fighter. Nor does camaraderie in battle or companionship in camp. Such actions can only be deemed worthy if they are true and reflect their character, not reputation. Only by confronting the Sight could any of the contestants prove themselves worthy of knighthood, as they would stand naked before the only one who could see the truth as it was rather than as it was presented. All knights would challenge those aspiring to the honour they bore to travel to the capital to face the Sight. And any claiming to be knights could be challenged, not to a feat of arms, but to a test of truth. Could they speak of the Trial of the Sight?"

_The Book of Brothers (Trial of the Sight)_

_Brienne closed the Book of Brothers, her latest addition to the story of the Kingsguard and the wider history of knighthood since its founding in Andalos finally complete. She laid her hand on the heavy tome, thinking of the changes she had just made and the ones that were still to come, whether hers or those of the future knights of the Six Kingdoms._

_'He would be proud of you.' Tyrion had said as he poured himself more wine._

_Brienne hadn't look at the Hand, her eyes fixed on the book in front of him. But a slight tug had pulled at her lips.__  
_


End file.
